SUMMER FADED INTO September and Da’s leeks were ready to be pulled for the village show. Grace’s retirement gardens were grand too. Some produce was sold at the market, some would be entered for the show, which was to be judged by Mr Auberon.
On the day of the show the meeting room at the club reeked of onions and leeks, and when the judging was finished and the villagers were allowed in there was a yellow rosette placed by Evie’s da’s leeks and it was Grace who had First Place. Bob Forbes smiled and shook her hand. ‘It’s all in the digging,’ he said.
‘And the muck,’ Grace replied.
Evie looked closely at the leeks. Were Grace’s really best, or was Mr Auberon biased as always? She couldn’t tell.
The following week Lord and Lady Brampton returned from the London season with Lady Veronica, and within a week the shooting parties were under way and the kitchens were busy providing hampers and outdoor picnics, Mr Harvey was in two pairs of long johns, and the evening meals were gargantuan. Fresh air and the slaughter of birds must do that for one, Evie grumbled.
At the end of September, she and Simon sat on the barrels in the bothy. His arm was tight around her and he was kissing her neck but all she could think about was the Bastard’s whelp, for that was how she had started thinking of Mr Auberon again. She said, ‘At least I don’t have to look at him or stick under the same roof now he’s out on his ridiculous Territorial exercises. He’s running away from the miners, that’s what he’s doing, because he can’t face them. How can he not yet lift the cavil after the announcement was made? He promised Si.’
He squeezed her so tightly that she could hardly breathe and said into her hair, ‘Try not to worry, pet. It doesn’t help, just think of your hotel and the success it will be, then you’ll all be happy, and that’s all that matters.’
She shook her head. ‘No, you have to be happy too.’
‘I have you, how can I not be happy as long I can entertain the guests with my songs.’ He mimicked her usual words, ‘It’ll be the best thing in the world.’ She slapped him lightly but it was the first time he had mentioned the importance of his singing, and she was surprised. She had thought it was the gardens he loved, and knew that she must not forget what he’d just said.
In October she and Grace continued to go to the suffrage meetings when the shooting parties allowed, feeling more relaxed there because of Lady Veronica’s absence. Mrs Moore commented, ‘I gather Lady Brampton is dragging her round the county when there’s a lag in the shooting.’
At the meetings they did not hesitate to stand and let their voices be heard. Evie had argued at the last one that the present campaign of violence was damaging to the reputation of women. A member of the committee had leapt to her feet. ‘You ridiculous girl, we must perform these acts to create an impossible state of affairs in the country to prove that it is impossible to govern without the consent of the governed.’ Grace had whispered, ‘Perhaps she’s swallowed a dictionary?’
Still the louts continued to pelt them with eggs or tomatoes as they left, or as they heckled politicians. ‘It could have been bricks not eggs, let’s be thankful,’ Grace always said as they wiped their clothes clean on the return journeys, for they had agreed they would protest but not destroy.
By the end of October Mr Auberon had returned from playing soldiers and was back at the mine. Would the cavil be returned now? ‘I won’t hold my breath or you’ll be burying me by evening,’ she’d told Simon as she fetched herbs.
The cavil was not returned. On Thursday Mr Auberon resumed his downstairs tea, smiling as he took up his fork and tried a small piece of Battenberg. ‘Perfection,’ he said.
The range was damped down low preparatory to baking meringues for dessert, the servants were in the hall and Millie was heaven knew where. What was the point in asking any more?
‘Your dreams, Evie?’ Mr Auberon said, eating more cake and patting his mouth with his napkin. ‘What are your dreams?’
She was busy beating egg whites with the range oven door slightly ajar to further cool it down. She felt like saying, ‘I’ll have the cavil returned, please sir, and then you can have your meringue. After that, I’ll have a cool breeze up my skirts, thank you very much.’ Instead she admitted only to hoping for a senior cook’s role.
She knew that she must not address a question to him but she did, into the silence that had fallen as he patted his mouth with the napkin again. ‘And yours, sir?’
‘Fly fishing,’ he replied, cutting another slice of cake. She laid aside the whisk and replenished his cup of tea. He smiled. ‘Sit here for a moment, Evie.’ He pointed to the stool near him. She hesitated. He said, ‘Please, I get a crick in my neck if I have to look up, or a strained voice if I have to shout down the table.’
She felt it an order and sat, feeling uncomfortable. ‘Fly fishing,’ he repeated, pouring in his milk. ‘I renewed my acquaintance with the sport while on manoeuvres.’ How reassuring, she thought, to know our country’s safety is in the hands of soldiers whose manoeuvres include fly fishing.
He loved it, he told her – the tranquillity, the skill, required, the silence except for the whir of the rod wheel and the birds. ‘One day I am going to France, I will take my horse and I will ride along the length of a particular river and I will fish where the spirit takes me.’
Well, no doubt he would, as he wouldn’t be staying in the pit for ever, and would then have all the leisure in the world to do exactly as he wanted, whereas . . . He smiled, and his face lit up, his eyes crinkled. What a shame such lovely eyes and beautiful smile hid a heart of stone. She suggested a scone but he shook his head, and took a slice of chocolate cake.
‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ he laughed, and again his face lit up, and for a moment she found herself smiling in return. He sat straight these days, his shoulders back, no longer bowed. They only became so when Bastard Brampton returned and was displeased, as had happened after it had been announced that the cavil would be reinstated. It was then Mr Auberon had sat carefully, and moved judiciously, and she longed to say, ‘Wallop him. In the chops. That would show him. And be a man, give us the cavil anyway. My brothers Jack and Timmie would in your position, and me da would never have taken it away from the miners in the first place.’
Would she stand up against the Bastard? Well, she’d never know, but this whelp had reneged on his promise, so he was as much of a bastard as his father and the memory of his bruises left her unmoved.
In mid December Evie and Mrs Moore decided to tackle the Nesselrode pudding recipe Lady Brampton had requested for the pre-Christmas dinner she had planned. As they worked they talked about Millie, who had ground almost to a halt and could only be termed a dawdler of the first order. Evie and Mrs Moore had tried to teach her with care and kindness, they tried to prod her with anger but nothing worked.
‘She’s making a fool of herself with this Roger, that’s the problem. She’s got no thought of anything else,’ Mrs Green said, popping her head around the door as they lined up the ingredients, and then left.
Evie looked at Mrs Moore, who shrugged, checking the utensils which Evie had laid out in Millie’s absence. ‘Of course Mrs Green and I have discussed it. Where is the girl, anyway? She’ll have to go. We can’t carry her any longer. I don’t like to dismiss someone but there’s too much work and it’s unfair on you lasses.’
Mrs Moore settled herself on her stool in front of the ranges and started to check off the ingredients that Evie had brought from the big pantry, pointing at them with a wooden spoon handle. Evie said, ‘I sent her to lie down now she’s finished preparing the servants’ lunch. She has a bad headache.’
Mrs Moore tutted. ‘You’re too soft. Forty chestnuts, Evie?’
‘In the bowl. She didn’t look well.’ Evie stood at her side.
Mrs Moore said, ‘She’ll be in trouble soon, anyway, and have to go with no character and more tears than she ever dreamed. He won’t be dismissed, the man never goes. If we send her away now we could save her because I’ll give her a character, of sorts, and there’ll be distance between them. You mind my words, he won’t be bothered with someone he has to make an effort over. He likes his plums daft enough to drop off the trees into his hands.’
Evie looked over Mrs Moore’s shoulder at the recipe, and weighed the candied citron. ‘One ounce, does it say? I suppose you’re right, looking at it like that.’
‘Yes, one ounce. You and Simon don’t . . .?’
‘Two ounces of currants? Of course we don’t.’ Evie wanted to, of course and so did he, but they had plans and those came first, they told one another to damp the longing.
Annie was clattering in the scullery. Evie said quietly, ‘Someone could leak Simon and me to Mrs Green and Mr Harvey, then we’d have to go, too,’ she said, weighing up two ounces of stoned raisins.
‘You’re discreet,’ Mrs Moore snapped, ‘unlike that young lady. And no one wants either of you to leave.’ Roger opened the kitchen door and passed through on his way to the bell corridor, smiling the same old smile that made both women long to slap him.
‘That looks tasty, ladies, a little something to keep a good man going.’
Neither woman even looked at him, and where was the good man he was talking about? Not here, that’s for sure. They blanched the chestnuts in boiling water, removed the husks, and pounded them in a mortar until they were smooth. ‘Enough, do you think?’ Evie asked Mrs Moore. She nodded.
Evie rubbed the pounded chestnuts through a fine sieve and mixed them in a basin with a pint of syrup, a pint of cream and the yolks of twelve eggs, which Annie had to collect in Millie’s absence. ‘Put it over the low hotplate now, lass, and don’t stop stirring,’ Mrs Moore instructed.
Evie did so, stirring, until she thought her arm would drop off.
‘Now don’t let it boil,’ Mrs Moore warned.
They put the mixture to set in the icebox and tomorrow they’d move it into the freezing-pot. They put maraschino cherries, currants and raisins to soak, and Evie pounded sugar with vanilla. ‘Such a shame really about Millie,’ she said. ‘She could have learned much more than she has. I’ve tried, I really have.’
Mrs Moore grunted, ‘You have, lass. She was set on her course, it seems to me. It’s nothing to do with you, or me, or anyone else.’
Evie’s guilt was almost gone. But it was only ‘almost’ for hadn’t Roger targeted the girl originally because of her?
That afternoon Mr Auberon and Lady Veronica came for tea, but explained that they would be unable to inconvenience Evie again until after Christmas, and apologised, yet again, for being in the way.
Over tea, with the suckling pig hissing on the spit, they slipped into French and Mr Auberon explained to Veronica that he was going to be extraordinarily busy for the next few months, and so were Hawden and Auld Maud pits because they needed to provide more energy for the steelworks. ‘Father’s signed a big steel contract, and it might be due to me, in part. The middleman’s a military admirer and he classes the Territorials in that, and my involvement might have helped firm the contract. Father will have to keep to his word now and not oppose the return of the cavil. So that’s a new year present for the pits, and at last I can get some sleep. It’s been preying on my mind so.’
Lady Veronica looked up. ‘That’s wonderful, but it’s so late and it appears as though you reneged. He’s such a devil.’
Mr Auberon shook his head and drank his tea but Lady Veronica merely played with hers, her frown deep. Evie saw Mr Auberon push his cup and saucer away and drag his hand through his hair so savagely that she longed to slap his hand and tell him to break the habit, or he’d tear it out by the roots. ‘He’s like a damned spider, spinning a web. I think he’s going to be trying for a contract with Germany next. I saw a letter on his desk with a Berlin address.’ There was disgust in his voice.
‘But is that patriotic, with the naval race in progress? What is the matter with you, Aub, why didn’t you speak out?’
‘The matter is the bloody cavil, isn’t it? I can’t oppose him or he’ll close the pit. That’s what he said. “Keep your place or watch your men take to the road.” The fact that he needs the coal wouldn’t matter. He’d buy up another pit.’
Evie was listening hard as she drew up menus for tomorrow, and didn’t know how she felt except that her hatred for the Bastard knew no bounds. So, the cavil would be reinstated in the new year. So, she worked for a monster who had a son who could not fight his father. But who the hell could? Behind her the smell of young pork was sweet. There would be cold meat and pickle for the servants’ supper tomorrow.
Evie continued flicking through her bible, not reading the words. Last week Mrs Moore had iced the Christmas cake. She was in a good phase at the moment, and not drinking. The Christmas puddings were already made and so too were a million mince pies. She began mentally to tick off the other treats – such as sugared almonds which they would try to make tomorrow – because it was easier than thinking of the life this young man was forced to live.
Today Mrs Green and the housemaids and footmen had been decorating the Christmas tree which Simon, Thomas, Alf and Bernie had set up in the great hall this morning, before coming down for tea and scones. They were covered in pine needles and gathered around the range, laughing and talking about the gifts Father Christmas would not be bringing them.
Tomorrow the house servants would complete the tree and then prepare the rooms for the intended guests, to include Lord and Lady Williams and Captain Richard Williams, of course. The captain’s younger brother was away with his regiment, his sister was married and in her own home with her own set of in-laws to bother about, according to Mr Harvey. Evie looked for further recipes, though today they would prepare a plain dinner for upstairs of soles à la crème removed by roast suckling pig and pheasant, removed by vol-au-vent of pears and compote of Normandy pippins.
Lady Veronica was rising and Mr Auberon leapt to his feet, pulling out her chair. ‘It’s good to have her back, isn’t it, Evie?’
Evie stood as she should, knowing no one would pull out her stool. She smiled. ‘We’re all pleased, Lady Veronica, for it’s not quite right without you.’
To her surprise she realised she meant it. Lady Veronica flushed and moved to the door, which Mr Auberon held open for her. ‘Thank you, I agree, it isn’t right anywhere else.’ She switched to French. ‘Auberon, it is no better, there is still no love.’ They left and Evie watched them walk along the passageway. Poor rich bairns, she thought, grateful for her life and half able to hope that the bad placements were over for her family. But she had been here before and dared not trust.
Millie returned to the kitchen from yet another rest on her bed, or had she slipped out? Who knew? Whatever the cause, her nose was bright red with cold. Or was it more tears? Evie’s heart lifted. Had Roger seen her off? Millie stood by the end range and pulled her shawl tightly around her, as though she was defending herself against the world. Well, she would be soon if she didn’t get the wake-up tea for the upper servants. Immediately it was all rush and eventually Mrs Moore arrived, restored by rest and tea. ‘I have to say you make a nice pot of tea, young Millie,’ she said, settling herself on the stool. ‘Now fetch the puff pastry from the ice room, pet.’ Clearly she had not told the girl of the plans for her dismissal.
Millie did so, and Mrs Moore winced as she rolled out puff pastry on the marble slab. Evie and she had worked out which tasks she could perform without too much effort. ‘Did Lady Veronica seem well?’ Mrs Moore asked, leaning down on the rolling pin. ‘I expect she’s ready for a rest after her gallivanting.’
Millie said, as she rolled out the pastry for the servants’ game pie which was a particular favourite of Mr Harvey’s, ‘Lucky for that lot. What about us, we’re rushed off our feet.’
‘Well, some of us are,’ shouted Annie from the scullery before coming into the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up and her hands like raw steak. ‘Where were you, Millie? You left before luncheon’s tidying up was finished and Sarah and I had to do it. It’s not fair. Mrs Moore, you need to do something.’
Millie didn’t look up as she whimpered, ‘I was getting the vegetables from the store.’ Annie came closer, arms akimbo. ‘You know Simon had already brought them in, so don’t lie. Why did you nip out? But why am I asking that? We all know why. Where he goes, you go.’
Evie felt a headache begin. Mrs Moore was pressing down on the pastry cutters. ‘Enough now, Annie. It’s not your place to ask where your betters have been.’
Annie strutted back to the scullery. ‘Betters, that’s a good one. She’s no better than she ought to be, and if you’re making buns, Mrs Moore, you should ask what she’s got in her own oven.’
There was a total silence in the kitchen. Mrs Moore stopped in mid cut, Millie in mid roll, Evie in mid baste. The only sounds were of the scullery maids banging and crashing the kitchen pans, plates, sieves and whatever else had just been used for dinner preparations.
Millie began to weep on to her pastry. Mrs Moore stared at Evie, then nodded. She didn’t look at Millie, but her anger was only too plain as she shouted, ‘Now is not the time for snivelling, Millie. Stop dripping on to the pastry, make the pie, do just as you would normally do, then you and Evie will have a little talk.’
Millie was still crying. She dropped the rolling pin, and dragged her arm across her eyes. Her nose was running. Please, not on to the pastry, Evie urged silently. She thrust her own handkerchief at the girl. ‘Wipe your nose, go and wash your hands, and let’s finish and then we’ll sort everything out.’ She sounded so confident, though she knew there was nothing to be done if Annie had been correct.
Somehow they staggered through food preparations and no one asked the question that was in all their minds. Over dinner in the servants’ hall Evie made it her business to sit next to Millie, gripping her thigh when it seemed as though she would dissolve yet again, ignoring Roger’s look of triumph which she understood too well. Yes, Millie was a bloody fool who had thrown herself at him when he lifted his little finger, but he had lifted it in the first place because of Evie. Damn them both. Poor stupid lass. She stared at him, hoping her contempt was withering. He just nodded, satisfied.
Once dinner was served she dragged Millie up to their room, sitting on the girl’s bed, pulling her down beside her and holding her, rocking her, their feet on the proggy mat she had sneaked in to make the floor kinder on their feet. It was the one she and her mother had been working on in the spring. There were paper chains around the room too, and holly with bright red berries in a vase. How absurd they seemed now. If Mrs Green did one of her bedroom rounds it would be a relief to remove them.
Evie asked, ‘How far gone are you, pet?’ Her headache was pounding. She was tired and out of her depth and wanted Mrs Moore to handle everything. But then she sat up straight. No, she was this girl’s teacher, it was up to her.
‘Not quite three months. He won’t have anything to do with me, Evie. He just won’t.’ She was crying now as she had never cried before, and that was saying something.
‘What have you tried so far?’ Evie asked.
‘I said I’d do anything he wanted, anything, if he’d just marry me.’
Evie felt her irritation build. ‘No, what have you tried to sort out the problem? Have you been to your aunt, will she have you?’
‘She can’t. Mam sleeps on a chair in their kitchen because there’s no room. I can’t ask her.’
Well, at least she has some consideration for others, Evie thought, her opinion of the girl rising slightly.
Millie was wailing now. Evie soothed her. Millie’s cries grew less and Evie said, ‘You have a decision to make, do you want the child, or not? But first, do you understand what will happen to you if you have it?’
Millie pushed herself away. ‘You’ve got to help me. If I get rid of it, then he’ll marry me, I know he will.’
Dear God, what was the matter with the girl? ‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then at least I’ll be free of it and I’ll have a job, otherwise I’m going to be dismissed and I’ll be in the workhouse and the bairn will be taken away to live in hell with the other bairns. They die there, don’t they, Evie? I won’t have a character even if I can get out of the workhouse, so I won’t get back into work and I’ll be on the streets. I have to get rid of it or I might as well top myself.’
‘No, that’s not going to happen. You will never go to the workhouse. I’ll find you somewhere rather than that.’
Millie grabbed Evie’s arm and shook her. ‘Just help me get rid of it, please. I must. I simply must get rid of it.’
Evie had been waiting for her to say this but it still shocked her, and she realised she was gripping her hands together so hard that her fingers hurt. But she must help, of course she must. She stared up at the high window. It was dusk and there was no moon. She looked around the room. Millie’s outdoor clothes were draped across the back of the only chair, one from the storehouse. Wasn’t there something about jumping off chairs? She didn’t know. And she just wanted to shake the silly stupid girl, but how would that help? Though perhaps it might?
They heard footsteps now, in the passageway. Evie put her finger to her lips and both girls sat silent as ghosts waiting for them to pass, but they didn’t. The handle turned. Please don’t let it be Mrs Green. The door opened. It was Mrs Moore, her face creased from the effort of climbing the stairs. She was panting.
‘Annie and Sarah are boiling water. They are bringing it up in jugs to top up the bathwater. You will use the bathroom one floor down, you will not bring the tin bath up here. But that is assuming you want to try and solve this problem?’ She waited, shivering. Only now did Evie realise it was freezing in the bedroom. Millie nodded. Mrs Moore handed her some pills. ‘They’re pennyroyal, and Beecham’s Pills and quinine.’ Millie took the pills and sat with her hands on her lap. Mrs Moore handed Evie a bag of mustard powder and from her pocket came a bottle of gin.
‘It’s all I can do,’ she said. ‘Now hurry to the bath. I have had a word with Mrs Green and no one will interrupt you. I will continue with the upstairs dinner preparations and Annie will help until you are free, Evie. Remember that whatever the outcome, girls, you must never mention this again. If it works I will call in a friend to help at the end if necessary. We can’t have the doctor, or you will be instantly dismissed. Evie, if something happens tonight, come and get me. I’ll have to send you to my friend by bicycle.’
‘Yes, I’ll take a lamp and hang it on the handlebars. You know, none of this is fair,’ Evie said. ‘Roger gets away scot-free even if we tell on him, because it’s always the woman’s fault.’
Mrs Moore was leaving the room, but stopped to say, ‘Isn’t this what I’ve been telling this silly lass since you all came? Millie, it’s the way of the world. But you keep on fighting, Evie. You keep on fighting with your ladies and keep your legs together, and you too, from now on, Millie. Remember that you’re not without blame.’ Mrs Moore shook her head at Evie, her message clear. Say nothing about the decision to dismiss the girl. First things first.
The bathwater became bright yellow when the mustard was added. Sarah and Annie didn’t speak but their faces said it all. They were torn between pity, anger, and relief – relief because it wasn’t them, and after this, it wasn’t likely to be. As Evie helped her into the bath Millie clutched at her. ‘It’s so hot.’
‘It has to be.’
Millie eased herself in, the steam rising, her clasp on Evie’s apron lessening until she let go entirely and sat in the five inches of water. ‘Sweep it over your belly,’ Evie advised, though she didn’t know if this was the right thing to do. Millie did so, her skin reddening with the heat. ‘My pills,’ she gasped.
Evie handed them to her, and the gin, and while the girl took them she swept the hot water on to her belly again and again.
Once the water cooled Millie dried herself and dressed while Evie cleaned the bath with salt. ‘There.’ It was spick and span. They returned to the bedroom and Millie jumped from the only chair. Again and again, then Evie shook her until her teeth rattled.
They returned to the kitchen in time to dish up the soles à la crème, the suckling pig, and pheasant which Evie had plucked in the game room, the maggots falling to the floor, the smell obnoxious. It should have been Millie’s job, but she had felt sick the moment they had entered. ‘I should have known then,’ Evie whispered. Mrs Moore shook her head. ‘If anyone should, it was me. It’s not as though it’s for the first time. It’s getting to be a habit with that creepy-crawly.’
They dished up the vol-au-vents and compote.
Evie and Millie barely slept that night, but nothing happened. Or the next day. Finally Christmas was with them, and on Christmas morning Evie opened the present from her family, a bracelet which she tucked into her drawer, together with a photograph frame from Si. Later the servants lined up in the hall to receive their presents from the Bramptons. Their packets of uniform material were wrapped and presented as though they were the Crown jewels. They each curtsied or bowed as they took their gifts, and all wanted to throw them straight back at Lady Bountiful. Why couldn’t the woman find it in her heart, or from her pocket, to buy them something nice?
They trooped back down and their kitchen duties continued until two in the morning, and still nothing had happened with Millie.
On New Year’s Day 1913 Millie was given notice after lunch, because Lady Brampton had recognised her swelling belly for what it was as she collected her Christmas present. She required the return of the material. As Millie packed and the servants went about their tasks quietly, Roger was seen in the yard smoking. Evie could not bear it, any of it. She talked to Mrs Moore about Grace’s houses, and was given permission to take time off to accompany Millie. ‘I will mention this to Mrs Green. Return when you can,’ Mrs Moore told her.
Evie walked home with Millie pushing her bicycle, balancing Millie’s wicker box with her possessions on the saddle. They skirted the mud on the rutted tracks once they were off the Bramptons’ tarmac road. Leaving Millie ensconced in her mam’s kitchen, Evie called on Grace in the parsonage. Time was short so they spoke on the doorstep, their breath cloudy in the chill air. ‘I’m so sorry, Evie, but it isn’t suitable to have a pregnant girl in with the rehabilitating miners in the second house, or the retirement house, really. I will try and find something, somewhere, if you can wait. I myself have a full house of ailing parishioners.’ Grace clutched her shawl up to her chin.
Evie knew they couldn’t wait, or could they, if her mam let Millie stay for a while? ‘Thank you, Grace, I’ll see what else I can sort out.’
On her return, she found Da sitting in his chair, smoking his pipe and scanning his pigeon magazine. Timmie was at the kitchen table, his sleeves rolled up and his blue scars visible, painting a lead soldier that Evie had given him for Christmas. They were his passion, and when finished, this one would take its place with the others on the shelf in his bedroom. Jack was sitting opposite Timmie reading The Times.
‘Not sure about these suffragettes of yours, Evie,’ he said, looking up. ‘Doing a lot of damage with this arson and losing a bit of support, I reckon.’ He rattled the paper and returned to it, then said, ‘It’s New Year and we’ve been given a day off, but can you find out exactly when the cavil returns?’ Evie shook her head in warning, nodding towards Millie. Jack understood immediately. They didn’t want anyone to know that Evie reported back from the Hall.
Millie sat on the sofa with Mam, who was knitting a scarf for Timmie’s walk to the pithead of a morning. Evie came to the range, warming her hands. She shook her head at her mam and Millie. Millie’s eyes filled again. The men continued with what they were doing.
‘She says it’s not appropriate and I can see what she means,’ Evie explained. Her mam nodded. ‘I thought that would be the case.’ Her needles were clicking, the scarf was growing, the range was crackling and spitting with the poor-grade coal. Nothing changed, everything changed. Millie looked terrified. Evie squeezed on to the sofa. No one spoke.
Evie said quietly, for the women’s ears only, ‘She’ll try but we’d have to wait, and where can she go until somewhere is found?’ The silence continued and Evie felt as though her breathing had stopped.
Her father looked up at the clock on the mantel. She followed his gaze. It was time she left. He cleared his throat, leaned forward and tapped out the ash from his pipe on to the fire. Millie was completely still, the tears sliding down on to her shawl. Her da said, ‘Well, the minute you lower your voice you know you’ve got us all listening, so is anyone going to say anything? What about you, Mam?’
Her mam chuckled. ‘You’re the man of the house.’
Jack laid down his newspaper and called across, ‘Grace would help if she could, so for heaven’s sake, the pair of you, Millie’s going to be staying here at least until the bairn is born and you knew that the moment you brought her here, Evie. Tell the girl to stop the waterworks and relax. Timmie and I will bunk together and he’d better not snore.’
‘It’s not me who snores, it’s me mam.’ They all laughed, her mother dropping a stitch, then wagging a finger at her youngest. ‘You’re not too old to have your backside walloped.’
Timmie pulled a face and grinned at Millie. ‘You can decide what’s to be done once the bairn is born.’ His hand was steady as he painted the dark green jacket of the fusilier.
‘Aye, that’ll be right, lad. Now, you get back, pet. We’ll take care of the lass.’ Her mother patted Millie’s leg. ‘Hush now, pet. It’s sorted.’
Millie was wiping her face with the edge of her shawl. She said, in a voice faint with relief, ‘I’ll do all I can to help, honestly I will. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’
As Evie prepared to ride away she turned and waved to her mam and Millie standing in the doorway, and she blessed the family she had been born into, and then laughed aloud at the thought of wringing help from Millie. Perhaps though, pregnancy might bring about changes, and at least she and the baby would be safe, and cared for.
Just as she pushed away, Millie called. ‘Evie, Evie, I have to tell you something.’
Evie stopped and waited, the wind icy, cutting through her coat and two shawls. The smoke was being swept from the chimneys the moment it appeared. Millie ran to her, more tears streaming down her face. ‘I said something, I thought it would make him marry me.’
Evie held on to her handlebars, eager to be off. ‘Well, whatever you said you should have known he’d do a runner anyway. Think of the others he’s got into trouble, like Charlotte.’
She started to push down on the pedal, but Millie held her back, gripping her arm with surprising strength. ‘No, listen to me, Evie. I told Roger you were a Forbes and must have passed on the news of the houses. I told him before I left today. I’m sorry, really sorry.’
Evie stared at her. What? What? ‘You what?’
Millie was weeping and Evie was sick of the sound of it. ‘I told him. It was the one secret I had that might help me. I’m sorry. I’m right sorry. You’ll lose your jobs, you’ll need to find work, move. All of you. What about me?’
Evie wasn’t listening any more, she was powering away, head down, forcing the pedals faster and faster. She had to get back. She had to stop him telling Mr Auberon. They weren’t ready for the hotel yet. Damn Millie, damn her to hell, but even as she chanted this she wondered if in her position she might have done the same.
By the time she reached the bothy her legs were shaking with exhaustion and sweat was running down her back. She flung the bicycle in with the others and tore up the back paths. The sky was full of snow, she could smell it on the wind. She pounded past the vegetable store. Her mind had been working furiously: she must find Lady Veronica, she was her only hope. If she left it would be without a character or further training and alongside her would be Mrs Moore, who could no longer be protected. As for the menfolk in her family? Well, she knew the answer to that.
Sometimes Lady Veronica walked the dogs in the formal gardens, sometimes in the arboretum. Evie rushed through the yard, and then to the stables where she stopped, listening for the barks of the dachshunds – nothing, just the stamping of hoofs in the stalls, and the whistling of the stable lads who were stirring the bran. Her heart was pounding, her thoughts in chaos. Think, think. Calm down. She started back towards the rear stables, heading for the formal gardens, but then heard faint barks. They were in the arboretum. She ran back down the yew path alongside the front lawn and the cedar. Her hat slipped – fearing to lose it, she snatched it from her head. She had decided on her lever, and was ashamed but determined.
She ran along the haha, crossed the grid and hurtled between the acers, chasing the sound of the dogs. ‘Please let her be alone,’ she panted. ‘Please, please.’ There were the dogs, skittering around Lady Veronica’s feet, barking as she held out a biscuit. They were getting too fat. How trivial. Why did the mind come up with nonsense?
The breath was heaving in her chest and a stitch was slicing into her side. The dogs must have heard for they left Lady Veronica and tore towards her, then back to their mistress, then towards her again, nipping at her boots. Evie slowed to a walk and approached. Lady Veronica stood watching her, puzzled. ‘Evie,’ she said, ‘am I needed? Is there an emergency?’
Now she was here Evie couldn’t think how to start. She blurted out, ‘You owe me a hat. I don’t need it, I have another.’ She waved hers. ‘I was there, you see, at the meeting. It wasn’t just Grace who saved you, it was me, too.’
Lady Veronica held up her hand as though she was stopping a runaway horse. ‘I know, of course I know. I’m not stupid. Lady Margaret also recognised you when she heard you speak. I’ve often wanted to share my thoughts with you about the route the Pankhursts are taking, but it’s just so difficult, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to be there, and neither am I. Heaven knows what Captain Williams would think. Hush, Currant.’ Lady Veronica gave the dog another biscuit. Evie started to speak, but Lady Veronica sailed on. ‘I have your hat, it reminds me all the time of what’s important. We simply must have the vote, mustn’t we?’
Bugger the vote, Evie wanted to shout. Instead she said, ‘I simply must keep my job and you are the only one who can help me. I’m a Forbes, you see. My name isn’t Anston. Roger has discovered this and I know he will tell your brother, and I will be dismissed. I will tell your father of your suffragette activities if you don’t help me, and Lady Brampton, and Captain Williams.’ The shame of those words would remain with her wherever she went. The wind was bending the branches and the temperature had dropped further. She realised she was shivering. She looked at the hat which hung limp in her hand.
The dogs were jumping at Lady Veronica, and then at Evie. Her nose was running; she found her handkerchief and blew. Still nothing was said. She forced herself to meet the eyes of her mistress at last. Lady Veronica had paled, her hands were clasped in front of her. She said, ‘I would have helped anyway, Evie. You didn’t have to blackmail me.’
For the first time for a long while, Evie cried. It was all just too much, and the tears wouldn’t stop coming and neither would the apology which she repeated and repeated, shame making her want to sink into the ground and never emerge. Lady Veronica reached forward and wiped Evie’s face with her gloved hand. ‘My dear, we all do what we have to do, and now I want to know what’s happened to bring this about.’
Evie knew she would never forget that this woman had reached out and touched her, comforted her, when normally they would only receive a letter if it was on a salver, not given by hand. She had to pull herself together, she had to, because time was running out. She told Lady Veronica then, about the attack by Roger, about Millie’s pregnancy and the revealing of Evie’s secret. ‘She kept it for so long. She could have told him before but she didn’t,’ Evie concluded.
Lady Veronica nodded. ‘Well, Evie Anston, because it’s best that we know you as that, I will be speaking to Roger the minute I return to the house. Do we have any ammunition, do you think? Does he take wine from the cellar, or steal in any other way? A pregnancy won’t be a threat, he knows that. It’s always the woman’s fault.’ The glance they shared was bitter.
Evie shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ It was hopeless.
Lady Veronica called the dogs to her. ‘Go back and help Mrs Moore. We can’t have you leaving because Mr Auberon and I know that she can’t manage without you, though it’s best that we keep this between us, don’t you think?’
Lady Veronica put on the dogs’ leads, and hurried away. ‘Thank you,’ Evie called.
Lady Veronica waved a hand but didn’t turn. ‘This will now be forgotten, Evie, and I lay claim to the hat for ever. Is that acceptable?’
It was, indeed.
Lady Veronica found Roger in Auberon’s dressing room, brushing down his dinner jacket. She slipped through the door quietly and closed it behind her, leaning back against it. She disliked this odious man intensely. He was like a snake and used his position to overawe silly girls who then faced a life of ruin. Everyone knew but nothing was done, and it was time that changed.
She said, with no preamble whatsoever, ‘Roger, it has been brought to my attention that you have been stealing from Lord Brampton’s cellar.’ She had no proof of this, it could be quite untrue, but what did that matter when it came to an accusation by a mistress to a servant?
Roger turned, his thin face stunned, and the brush dropped from his hand. ‘That’s a lie.’
She stood straight, recognising the incipient violence in the man, for, after all, she had spent much time with her father. She kept her expression as disdainful as anything her stepmother could drum up and knew she must speak with no hesitation or uncertainty. ‘I will do nothing about it but will expect absolute discretion concerning the name of our assistant cook. I will not be without her and it is I who will be lady of this house on my marriage, for this will be our home. We cannot afford to be without someone of her skill, but we can afford to be without a valet. You would be easy to replace. Remember that my father has already had occasion to be displeased with you over the loss of the Froggett houses. One word, Roger, just one word and you will never work in this or any house again.’
The rapid passage of emotions across his thin full lipped face was fascinating. Fear, anger, fury and fear again. Finally there was acceptance and hatred. Well, that was mutual.
She left the room without another word. Power was addictive and dangerous, and must not be abused. With one word she could ruin a person’s life. Whether she told Aub about Evie was debatable. He should know, but did he need to know?